The Holmes Family Secret
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: It is said that many a family secret can be described as dark and twisted. Well, this one's a real killer... Story follows immediately on from An Abominable Scandal. Dr. Henry Howard Holmes was a real person, though this name was a pseudonym. He was born Herman Webster Mudgett on 16 May 1861. In this story however H. H. Holmes will be his real name.
1. The Black Sheep Returns

LIVERPOOL PIER – JANUARY 1896

The RMS Umbria docked in Liverpool. Its six day voyage from New York a remarkably uneventful one. But that didn't stop the passengers from making their way down the gangway in some haste. All were eager to disembark.

The air of unease was caused by a man they all made certain to give a wide berth as they passed him, while making sure to keep their heads down so as to avoid eye contact with him. There was something about him that left everyone feeling apprehensive.

He was reasonably tall, of solid build and possessed an uncommonly unremarkable face. Its features made up of a rounded cheeks, full moustache, and thick eyebrows. But it wasn't the way he looked that had the passengers on edge, but rather how he looked at them.

As one passenger would later note, "He looked at us as one would imagine a slaughterman sizes up the unfortunate beast he was about to dismember."

If the gentleman himself was concerned he showed no sign of it as he made his way along the pier with an air of supreme confidence.

Under his arm he carried a newspaper dated several months before. Its front page headline announced:

'Famed Detective Marries'  
The detective renowned for his disdain of sentiment has himself become the unwitting victim of it...

The article had been studiously read and re-read before and during the sea voyage. The man, like many around the world had read of the exploits of this particular detective, and his deductive abilities. But this man was more curious than most by the latest developments, and he was most eager to discover just how far off his game cousin Sherlock really was.


	2. Back to Work

221B BAKER STREET – LONDON

The scene that greeted Inspector Lestrade as he entered the flat was one of ordinary everyday wholesome domesticity. A couple in their first year of wedded bliss, blessed with the addition of a healthy baby girl just over three months before. They are totally devoted to each other and taking care of their child.

Except that these parents were anything but ordinary. The wife had masqueraded as a man so that she could work in the mortuary at St Bartholomew's Hospital. While her husband had an uncanny ability to read and evaluate seemingly obscure clues and interpret their meaning, thus turning what had seemed a perplexing case into a solvable one.

It was for these unique abilities that Lestrade had intruded into their little sanctuary. That and the fact that Mrs Holmes had instructed the Scotland Yard Detective to get her husband out from underfoot before she strangled him.

Luckily for all concerned there was a current case that had all at Scotland Yard in equal measures amused and confused. It was the type of case that the World's Only Consulting Detective liked to get his teeth into.

Usually.

But Sherlock Holmes was not the man he used to be. Over the last twelve months he had gone through a transformation, personality wise. That was not to imply that his crime solving skills had been blunted, nor that his manner when dealing with clients, Scotland Yard or the criminal classes had improved in any way.

No, the change was most notable, as it was at this very moment, in his dealings with his wife and daughter. From the moment of Victoria's birth, nay, from the moment it was known she had been conceived, Holmes had become besotted with his 'Little Honey Bee'.

His friends and colleagues viewed these changes with amusement, and though they were pleased to see this softer side of Holmes, there were times when the old Holmes, the cool, calculating machine, was needed.

"Holmes, you may regard this case as only a three..."

The statement was met with a raised eyebrow.

"All right a two," Lestrade conceded. "But it has all at Scotland Yard completely baffled."

"I have little doubt," Holmes responded drily.

Appealing to the consulting detective's ego usually resulted in a mad dash for the front door, but it was clear as he watched Holmes cradle his daughter in his arms, that this tried and true method was having little effect. Lestrade was at his wits end as to how to get Holmes back into the game. In desperation he tried once more. "You'll have it solved in no time, and still be home for tea."

Sherlock had to admit, even if only to himself that solving a small case did hold some appeal. He knew he couldn't remain unoccupied forever. That and the fact Molly had been dropping some not so subtle hints that he should get back to work.

As though she had read his mind, Molly walked over to him and removed Victoria from his grasp. "For goodness sake Sherlock go. You know you want to. You have my and Victoria's blessing. Now shoo!"

At that very moment an elderly, agitated gentleman barged unannounced into the flat. "Sherlock, thank God you're here!" the man cried with relief.

The man bore s strong resemblance to Sherlock's father, though more flamboyantly dressed than his younger brother. Usually so fastidious with his attire and appearance, but not so on this occasion. Everything he wore was awry, misplaced, untidy or completely missing.

It was clear to all that he had dressed in haste, and was in obvious distress.

"Uncle Rudy, what has happened?" Sherlock exclaimed, leading his distraught relative to the sofa, before pouring a substantial amount of whiskey into a glass from its decanter, and placing it into the shaking hands of his uncle.

After taking a sip or three Rudy Holmes turned pleading eyes to his nephew. "You must help me Sherlock," he gasped. "He has returned. God help me, I have seen him with my own eyes."

"Of course Uncle," Sherlock assured him. "But who is it you have seen? And why do you fear this individual's return?"

"Henry," Rudy replied. "I've seen my son, Henry."

"Impossible!" Sherlock stated emphatically. "Cousin Henry is dead."

Rudy shook his head sadly. "No, he isn't," he responded, his tone sombre. "Though I wish with all my heart that it was not so."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, a resigned sigh leaving his lips. He hated family secrets. "Then begin with the truth, and tell me why it is understood by the family that Henry died seventeen years ago," came his stern instruction.


End file.
